The Symbolism Of Cuckoldry
Posted 12 February 2006
Reading back through my diary posts, one thing that really strikes me is the false image I've given you of my husband Martin. Because you're very much seeing things from a sexual context and because I'm often so turned on when I write my diary entries, the impression I give is that Martin is a complete wimp, a submissive weakling who would submit easily to others.
I couldn't live with a man who was submissive in every aspect of his character. I couldn't abide a husband who wouldn't stand up for himself, who would meekly say nothing if someone pushed ahead of him in a queue. The great attraction of Martin now is the combination of the sexual submissiveness he displays with me and the otherwise confident, assertive character he displays to the rest of the world. Alone with his Mistress he really is a small-pricked, heel-sucking, arse-licking, faggot-minded sissy failure, and fully deserves every stroke of the whip I give him. The rest of the time however he's a strong-willed, impressive, dynamic individual with a very engaging personality. Although many men think that Martin is very lucky to be married to me, I know for a fact that many women similarly feel that I'm the lucky one. You don't get to build the business my husband has (and at such a young age) by lacking drive, intelligence and skill, and you certainly don't last long if you let others walk all over you.
If you met Martin's mother, Grace, you'd perhaps begin to understand my husband more. They say that often behind a successful man is a dominant mother - not one who tries to crush and subdue her son, but one who instead instils her boy with great self-belief, making him feel as though there are no goals beyond his dream or reach. Grace fits this role perfectly. I can quite believe that during Martin's upbringing she played an unconscious Thetis to her Achilles, though I'd stop short of claiming that my husband developed submissive sexual desires due to his mother's parenting.
When I first met Grace I immediately sensed an undercurrent of wariness towards me. She's a very sophisticated, elegant woman with a sharp mind, and she would never openly display such feelings, but I just knew that my relationship with Martin had put her on her guard. I was not just any old girlfriend; this was something more serious. At the time I simply put her well-hidden cautiousness down to reservations she had regarding the age gap between Martin and me, possibly seeing me as a footloose gold-digger who was trying to ensnare her son. This interpretation was supported by the fact that her attitude towards me gradually softened as time went on and she got to know me better. I reasoned that my genuine love for Martin was obvious, and once she saw this her distrust evaporated.
Now that I know her so much better I don't believe this is the explanation for the lowering of her defences. I think what happened is that initially she saw me as a rival to the psychological hold she had on Martin, but her fears proved groundless once she saw how lacking in confidence and malleable I was at that time. Once she was satisfied that I didn't represent a threat to the status quo, she was able to relax. Indeed in the early years of our marriage Grace showed great affection towards me - a little patronising perhaps, but I always felt comfortably at ease when I visited the impressive country home where Martin had spent his childhood.
The reason I've changed my mind regarding my mother-in-law's posture is because my relationship with her has become distinctly cooler over the past few years. The wariness has returned; the guard is back up. I'm almost certain that this is due to the fact that I have changed so much as a person. Whereas at one time I could barely sustain eye contact with Grace as we talked, nowadays I don't show any deference towards her whatsoever. Respect, yes, but not deference. I talk to her as an equal, and I know this unsettles her. But more than this, she now must be able to see, or at least very much sense, the hold I have on her son. Martin is my boy now, mine to control. I imagine this loss of influence has subconsciously hit her hard.
I know for a fact that over the past few years she's said some unkind things about me to others, and she often can't resist making a pithy remark or two in front of me. I just bite my tongue. Recently though she's changed tack a little and has begun to drop undisguised hints that it would be a good idea for Martin and I to start a family before I get too old. I strongly suspect that this sudden interest in grandchildren hasn't emerged from the desire to see tiny feet running amok in her beautifully kept drawing room with its all-too-breakable antiques, but rather to have me stuck at home playing the part of the dutiful mother while Martin regains his rightful place as dominant breadwinner - restoring the usurped matriarch to her proper position in the process.
I'm not sure what Grace's reaction would be if she learned more of my true nature, although she's had a hint. When we visit Martin's parents or we go out with them for a meal, I always dress conservatively. Low heels, smart trousers or knee length skirt, high collared blouse or jumper, light make-up. I don't need to do this, but I think it would simply create unnecessary tension if I wore my more usual outfits. About two years ago though I was standing in the car park at the offices of a leading UK accountancy firm, talking to one of its regional partners and another man, a tax specialist. I was wearing a dark business suit which was fairly sober, except for a front split in the knee length skirt. As usual I was wearing suspenders and stockings, and very high heels. As I recall I wasn't really prick teasing at that moment and had merely stopped to talk to these two men because of a mutual interest we shared in an ongoing tax case concerning a client. However I can't deny that I wasn't holding my body suggestively as I so often do at such times. I was carrying an attaché case and I was leaning on one side of my body, allowing my stockinged leg to emerge noticeably from the split in the skirt. The men would have been very much aware of this glimpse of my thigh.
As I was listening to what one of the men was saying I noticed someone coming out the main door to the offices. It was Grace. She hadn't seen me at that point and for a moment I thought about looking away, hoping that she wouldn't recognise me, but I immediately realised that would be a senseless thing to do, so I drew my knee back into my skirt and waited until she was a little closer.
"Excuse me a moment," I said to the accountants. "Grace... hello, I'm surprised to see you here."
She did a complete double take when she saw me. "Oh, hello Maria, I didn't recognise you."
I asked her to wait a moment as I quickly wrapped up my conversation with the men, then I went over to her. She's quite tall, and normally when we speak our heads are at a similar height. It therefore seemed strange that I was very much looking down at her as we briefly chatted. I found myself trying to stand badly so I would lower my body, but it didn't really work. She couldn't help commenting on this:
"Goodness, you look so tall. How can you possibly walk in those shoes?"
She was studying my five-inch heeled patent courts and I actually felt embarrassed, even more so because I was also wearing black fishnets. I can't remember what I said, and all I can really recall is having a very uncomfortable five minutes or so chatting to her. Apparently she had been to the offices in her capacity as treasurer of a charitable trust. How unlucky can you get? I thought.
I soon managed to make an excuse that I had to go and we said our goodbyes, but my discomfort was heightened further when Grace just stood her ground as I turned to walk away. I could feel her eyes burning in the back of my head as I walked the twenty odd yards to my car, knowing that she would be wondering why I found it necessary to wear seamed fishnet stockings and skyscraper shoes to work. I was annoyed at myself for feeling guilty in her presence. What did it matter what she thought?
Grace has never commented on that meeting and I can't really say that her frostiness towards me increased noticeably from that day. It's just been a gradual deterioration. We're still extremely civil to each other though, and in fact I'm currently giving her some assistance with her charitable duties. She's organising a big event for the summer, and I couldn't easily say no when she asked me to help out. I was supposed to give her a progress report in early January and I've been putting it off ever since. I eventually realised I couldn't leave it any longer and last week I gave her a call.
I was interested to know whether she'd noticed any change in Martin since Christmas and I was actually a little disappointed when she didn't make any comment about him. Instead we just exchanged a few niceties and immediately got down to business. Suits me, I thought. I find it difficult to small talk with her these days.
About halfway through our conversation I was in the middle of discussing some fairly mundane aspect of the event when I suddenly swallowed badly and began to choke a little. I tried to recover but when I tried to speak again the choking just got worse.
"Give yourself a moment, dear," Grace said considerately, "or have a drink of water."
I coughed a few times and finally cleared my throat.
"It's okay," I assured her. "Gone now."
...and I carried on as if nothing had happened. What Grace will never know however is that the reason I choked was because Matt had at that very moment ejaculated into my face, and a good portion of his load had gone straight into my mouth. I'd tried to swallow the cum while still keeping the conversation going, but had failed miserably.
She'll never know that during the entirety of our conversation I was kneeling in front of my lover, playing with his prick. Whenever Grace spoke I would lick and suck Matt's beautiful cock, taking as much into my mouth as I dared. When it was my turn to speak, I would masturbate him, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking as I rhythmically pumped my arm back and forth. Matt had to keep quiet and wasn't able to give me any indication of how close he was to climaxing, so when he eventually sprayed me it came as a complete surprise. It was a gorgeous feeling having my face showered with hot sperm, and even when Matt had finished spurting I was able to feed further by licking my tongue around my lips and by sucking every last drop of cum from his prick.
This was no spur of the moment act. I had decided to do it days before and had been relishing the moment ever since the idea came into my head. I was going to humiliate Grace just as I had humiliated her small-dicked son. Even though she wouldn't be aware of what I had done, it was nevertheless still a humiliation. Next time I am at her house she will look at me and see a wicked glint in my eye - a taunting, gloating look; a look of victory.
That's it bitch, have a wonder why I'm laughing at you. Do you want to know the reason? It's because your daughter-in-law is a whore and she's cuckolded your pathetic wanker baby. Not only have I had another man's prick inside me, but I've had him shoot his cum over my face while you're listening to me on the phone. And I've got a video of me straddling your son with my lover's cum dripping out of my pussy into his gaping mouth. Would you like to see it? Would you like to see mummy's boy Martin drinking another man's milk?
This incident with the phone call to Grace is what I class as a symbolic act of cuckolding. In fact I'd go as far to say that it is acts such these which define cuckolding for me and without them I might as well just describe myself as 'having an affair'. The constant humiliation I inflict upon my husband (and now his mother) through such symbolism is what makes cuckolding so extraordinarily exciting and rewarding. The fact that there are so many ways to rub my spouse's nose in his inadequacy means that a cuckold marriage need never become boring or stale. Every day I amuse and excite myself by thinking up new ways to psychologically punish Martin. Even better, the more I act like a complete slut, the more effective the result. In my quest to rid Martin of every last vestige of manhood I get to indulge in ever more depraved and whorish sex. And let us not forget that my husband's mental agony is accompanied by a perverse arousal that leaves him desperate to masturbate at this relentless torture.
Phoning my husband while I was being screwed by Matt for the first time was a symbolic act. So was being spanked and whipped by my lover. Making Martin lick Matt's cum from me, and later drink from me, are acts rooted in the ritual of cuckoldry. But I don't do them just so I can adhere to some sort of training manual for the cuckold lifestyle. No, I do them because I love doing them. Can you remember when you gave your boyfriend a blowjob two years ago? No? Okay, can you remember when you gave your boyfriend a blowjob two years ago and he came in your face while you were on the phone to your mother-in-law? Oh, yes, you bet. It's something you'll never forget, and every time you see the old dear your face will light up with a smile as you recall the hot jism trickling down your cheeks as she rabbited away to you.
These moments are enormously precious to me and it's only since I've been truly unfaithful to my husband that the floodgates of symbolism have been properly opened. I am loving every moment of this new adventure, barely able to last a few hours before I need yet another sexual release to satiate my lust as a new means to humiliate Martin forms in my mind. Can this ecstasy of sadistic sexual pleasure be sustained? I so, so hope it can. Oh, please make it last.
What other things have I been up to already along these lines, things that I haven't even bothered to tell you about? Well, to begin with, although I dislike condoms I've got Matt to wear one on two separate occasions just so I can have him fill them for my games. I simply adore waving one of these in Martin's face when I get home, mocking his sexual prowess as I do so. Then I slap it across his cheeks several times before making him kiss and lick it as I laugh at him.
I eventually used a pair of scissors to cut open the first condom I brought home and emptied it over Martin's forehead, filming his humiliation as the cum ran down his face. As for the second one... hmm, I'll let you use your imagination on that. Anyway, my games with condoms have only just started. It was always a shared fantasy with Martin for me to come home after a night on the town with a dozen or so filled condoms in my clutch bag. Now... well, you never know...
Another thing I did last week was play the role of schoolteacher, putting on my old university gown over a leather miniskirt and rubber bra and strutting around in thigh length boots while brandishing a cane. Martin was the 'schoolboy' in detention, and he was required to write a two-page essay: "What I want Matt to do to Maria". I warned him that he knew the sorts of things I wanted to read and if his efforts fell short of pleasing me he would be punished severely, and I mean severely.
He didn't disappoint - Martin's got quite an imagination and one of the things he came up with was extremely novel. I intend to perform the scenario with Matt sometime soon and it makes my knees buckle to think that my cuck husband will be hurt to the core when I do a debauched act of his own invention with my lover.
As for my dear mother-in-law, does it end there? Have I had enough pleasure at her expense? Somehow I doubt it, but I'm unsure how far I want to go with this. On the one hand I have to take account of the fact that she is now in her mid-sixties, and you could argue that she hasn't actually done me any great harm other than to say a few harsh words to others about me. Also I wouldn't want to hurt Martin's father, George, of whom I am very fond. But on the other hand I'm certain that Grace has been working on Martin over the past few years, trying to drive a wedge between us and simply create trouble. That I feel gives me the right to some retribution.
I think that at some point I'm going to want her to know that I have had sex outside my marriage, but ideally I want it to be more than her simply discovering I'm seeing someone else. I'd like her to know that her son has married an out-and-out slut, and I'll need to come up with a scenario which drives that message home. The most obvious way is for her to 'accidently' see some pictures of me, perhaps on my laptop. The first couple or so she looks at just show me dressed for sex - leather microskirt, studded collar, half-cup bra, stockings and seven-inch heeled shoes. But later ones show me having sex with two or more men (none of whom is Martin of course) and it's obvious that I'm being serviced anally and loving every minute of it.
Maybe this would be a little too shocking. There are many other scenarios though, and I'm sure you get the idea. I want Grace to see me if possible in my fetish gear and I'd also like her to know that I like kinky extramarital sex. It will be important for her to initially believe that Martin doesn't know what I've been up to. She must think I'm cheating on him.
Ye gods, I really am a complete tramp, aren't I? Are my posts alienating you little by little? I wouldn't be surprised.
With this post I'm showing a few captures from a domination session I had with Martin last Sunday. I apologise for the high contrast lighting and blurring, but I thought this would be of interest to you now that I've cuckolded my husband. I've often videoed similar scenes, but they are so much more erotic and enjoyable now that another man is screwing me. The mocking and punishments I give Martin have real meaning now. My infidelity isn't just make believe, and this makes all the difference in the world.
I deliberately wore the same outfit that you can see in one of the thumbnail images at the top of the page as a favour to 'Ricky', a reader who has sent me some very nice messages. He specifically asked if I could show a larger version of the thumbnail, which is number 7 if we count the images from left to right. So, Ricky, here's the original capture it was taken from:
You'll see in some of the shots that I'm on the phone (as you have probably noticed, the phone has become an important accessory for me recently). This was a call I made to Matt and he was expecting me to ring. On the previous Friday I told Matt that I was going to have this session with Martin and I said it would mean a great deal to me if I could call him and indulge in some intimate talk while my husband paid homage to me. I can't say that Matt was wildly enthusiastic, but with some coaxing he agreed that it would be okay.
As it happened it all went much, much better than I expected. Matt was predictably tongue-tied when I first rang and I just led the conversation, with him saying very little. But as the call progressed and I gave Matt a detailed description of what Martin was doing, Matt relaxed and became obviously aroused. He began to excite me with descriptions of what he wanted to do to me, and ultimately he seemed to lose all self-consciousness. This was perfect as far as I was concerned because now it felt like a true, albeit remote, triangle of passion: Mistress, cuckold and lover.
The best part came when I began to lightly whip Martin with my crop. Matt could hear the strikes against my husband's bare bottom and asked for confirmation that what he was hearing was what he thought it was. He groaned when I said yes, I was physically disciplining my spouse, but I did better than that - I made Martin confirm it too:
"Do you like having your arse whipped, Martin?"
I held the phone down to Martin's mouth.
"Yes," he said.
"Do you want me to whip you harder?"
From now on I moved the phone to Martin's mouth each time he answered.
"Yes. Please, harder."
I spoke briefly to Matt again:
"See what I mean? He's utterly pathetic. You're pathetic aren't you Martin?"
And your cock's tiny isn't it?"
"Say it. Say it to Matt."
"Matt, my cock's tiny."
"And I need a big cock don't I? I need Matt's cock. Are you glad that Matt is fucking me these days?"
"Yes, I know you are. We should be thankful to Matt, shouldn't we? Say thank you to him."
"Thank you Matt."
"I want to hear it in full. Come on, you know what to say..."
And say it he did. A glorious, unforgettable moment:
"Thank you Matt. Thank you for fucking my wife."
I was soaking with excitement now. This was just fantastic.
"Good boy! Now thank Matt for ejaculating in my mouth."
"Thank you Matt for coming in Maria's mouth."
I laughed then into the phone.
"You really ought to see this Matt. He's wanking his little pencil prick furiously. He's really getting off on this. It's almost embarrassing..."
When Matt realised that this bizarre exchange was over he told me that he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He was competely stunned by it all. For me the whole thing was magical, with the added bonus that the ice has been broken now. Martin has actually communicated his servility to my lover and I'm hoping that this will ease Matt's fears that Martin's cuckolding will somehow unhinge him, with his jealousy provoking unpredictable behaviour. Matt is finally realising that my husband needs me to be serviced by another man and is in some warped way loving every moment of his humiliation.
I was worried that when I visited Matt on Tuesday that he would be seeing Sunday's games in a different light once his passion had died down and I breathed a sigh of relief when he embraced and fondled me as usual when he opened his door.
"You really are a dirty bitch, aren't you?" he said just as he was about to kiss me. Then afterwards: "I still can't believe the things you get up to."
He showed no reaction to my half-muttered response as I leaned forward to kiss him again:
"You haven't seen anything yet..."
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